


Fan Club

by cat_77



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Protective Siblings, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: There’s a line between obsessed fan and creep, and Malcolm is pretty sure the guy sending his sister letters is about to cross it.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	Fan Club

**Author's Note:**

> Because I wanted some sibling feels.
> 
> * * *

It took Malcolm about thirty seconds to deduce something was bothering Ainsley. When he did, her response was to blow a perfectly styled strand of hair out of her face and ask, “Did your years of profiling experience tell you that?”

He shrugged easily enough and admitted, “That, and I’ve been your big brother literally your entire life. You have tells, Ains, and right now those tells are saying you’re annoyed, and not just by me.” He led her over to the nearest empty park bench, checked to make sure nothing disgusting would get on her outfit, and gestured for her to sit beside him. “Spill,” he ordered. “You’ll feel better for it.”

“Did your shrink teach you that one? Because it doesn’t seem to be working that well for you,” she huffed petulantly. 

He knew there was no heat to her words though, even when he pointed out, “You do know what my actual degree is in, right? Like all those years of school and everything?”

She bounced her shoulder off of his own once because she could before she leaned up against him, always a sign that she was uncertain in her conviction about what she was about to say. That, and the lack of eye contact let him know his read on her was correct, as well as that he might need to wait it out. 

She stalled by taking a long draught of the coffee he had gotten her, then stalled a little more by swiping at the non-existent lipstick remnants on the lid with her thumb. Eventually, she breathed deeply and started with, “I got some weird letters. I know they’re nothing, but…”

“Weird as in?” he prompted. When she didn’t immediately reply, he clarified, “Are we talking ransom for a puppy or fan mail?”

Her lips twitched the way he knew they would but she still ran her fingernail along the edge of her cup before she said, “I guess you would call it fan mail, at least that’s what my producer is calling it. Supposedly, it’s a sign I’m making it, that I have a following. They are taking it as positive thing.”

“But...?”

“But they feel... off, for lack of a better word,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the descriptor. “Like, there’s nothing horrible about anything in them, but something just feels not right about them, you know? I’m probably just being overdramatic or something, I get that. It’s just… I’ve never really gotten this stuff before and, with our history, I’m probably just reading into things too much.”

It was possible, but he had learned over his years that there was a lot of crazy in the world, and a lot of it circled around the Whitlys. He told her as much, but did make sure he included, “You can bring them by if you want? I’ll take a look at them for you. I’ve been told I have a pretty decent weird-o-meter”

She smiled, so he considered it mission accomplished, whether or not she actually took him up on the offer. “You come by that naturally? Or is a learned thing? Something from all that schooling of yours?”

“Naturally,” he declared readily enough. “Something about weird being in my blood, but I’m sure you know nothing about that?”

Her phone chose that moment to ding and she made a face as she fished it out to look at it. “Speaking of producers...” she sighed. She scrolled and read something else before she said, “Looks like I’m going to be busy, which means you’re about to be busy. Meet up for dinner tomorrow if we’re able?”

“You mean if we’re not both buried knee-deep in the latest crime spree?” he teased. She shoved her phone away and he tugged her a little closer by the arm he still had wrapped around her. “I mean it, Ains, I’ll take a look for you, even if it’s just to ease your mind.”

“I might just take you up on that offer,” she conceded.

Now it was his turn for his phone to go off, just as expected. He pressed a quick kiss goodbye to her temple and left with a promise of food if and when they were able.

Dinner didn’t happen the next night as they were both far too busy. She did stop by the following morning as he rushed out the door to offer him a bag from a nearby bagel shop and a much larger package than he had first suspected. “Not a priority,” she reminded him as she handed both off.

He didn’t get a chance to run them back up to his place as Gil was waiting for him, so he brought her items with him when he climbed into the car to head off to yet another crime scene. Ainsley waved goodbye to both of them before she ran off again as well. “What’ve you got there?” Gil asked when he managed to get his seatbelt fastened.

“Gifts from Ains, want some?” he asked, holding up the bag in offering. 

Gil peeked in and made a face before he shook his head. “Not my favorite,” he said with regards to the spread and flavor mix. “You eat what you can because we both know it’ll probably be one of the few things you do all day.”

He wasn’t wrong and Malcolm didn’t deny it. Ainsley knew what few foods were less likely to upset his stomach, as well as what of those options would provide him with the fuel needed to survive. With that in mind, he crammed the very plain bagel with lox and cream cheese into his mouth while Gil gave him the rundown of the latest hit. He washed it down with the coffee Gil had waiting for him, wiped his hands on the provided napkin, and made sure there were no remnants to stink up the car while they headed off to investigate.

The details were similar enough to what they found before, with one notable distinction: the pool where the body was discovered was attached to a high-end apartment building versus a private club. The chlorine and the water still destroyed most of the evidence though, which was as purposeful as it was annoying. 

“He wanted the body to be found,” he deduced as he walked around the edge of the pool. The humidity of the room sank into his suit and he had the feeling he was going to smell like a swimsuit most of the day. “He liked the notoriety he received with the last victim, the public attention, and he wants more. The next one will be even more obvious, maybe a public park?”

He looked up in time to see Gil make a face. “We’re not supposed to hope for a next time, Bright. We’re supposed to try to stop the guy before it happens again.” There was no heat to his tone, only resignation.

“Maybe his need for attention will make him slip up and we’ll catch him that much sooner,” Dani offered in consolation. There was that chance, slim though it was, and Malcolm made a point of not contradicting her to allow the others that hope. Besides, he knew her well enough by now to know she was at least as cynical as everyone else, if not more so.

“He might have dumped this one quicker than intended,” Edrisa chimed in. Off of his questioning look, she said, “There are fibers under the victim’s fingernails. It could be a clue, or it could be nothing. I’ll look at them back at the lab as they are too wet to determine anything here.”

The security cameras had been disabled, which meant that they had very little to do aside from compare the obvious similarities and wait for Edrisa’s analysis. He took the opportunity to shed his suit coat in the unlikely hope that it would air out a little, and started in on the packet of letters once they arrived back at the station. It took all of about twenty minutes before a shadow crossed over the desk he had procured for the task.

“Whatcha got?” JT asked, already peering over to see for himself.

He leaned back in his chair to allow the detective a better view as there was no need for secrecy. He worked with investigative detectives and there was nothing wrong with another set of eyes on the issue. Besides, there was a fair chance JT would just grab some and run if his curiosity was piqued. “Ainsley’s fan mail. Some of it is making her uncomfortable, and she asked me to take a look to see if she’s overreacting or not.” He gestured to the three piles he had sorted the letters out into so far. “We’ve got normal, a little quirky, and odd.”

JT eyed the size of the “odd” pile and undoubtedly noticed how all of the stationary was identical, as was the handwriting used. “She’s smart, pretty, and demands attention wherever she goes, so, you know, a Whitly,” he mused with a quirk of his lips. He was already paging through some of the papers in front of him, re-categorizing to his own liking.

“That’s the Milton in her, my father preferred not to be sought out, even if he adores the notoriety now,” Malcolm corrected. 

Dani had joined them and raised a doubting eyebrow at that, but offered, “Did you need help? I can take one of the piles.”

He shook his head and picked up the smallest one. “These are mostly things like ‘great job!’ and requests to speak to a community college journalism class.” He moved on to the next largest one. “These are from creepy fanboys that are making thinly veiled sexual references. Generic, and pretty much all of them from different sources.” He personally felt his sister, or any woman really, shouldn’t have to deal with such things, but she had assured him that she had encountered far worse in her time to which he then assured her that it didn’t make it any better. He finally pointed to the final group and made a face. “These are all from the same person, signed only with the initials FR, and definitely ping as weird.”

“Well, you would know weird,” JT snorted. He barely even flinched at the way Dani smacked him in the shoulder, and smiled when Bright just nodded along readily enough. He narrowed his eyes, serious again, and asked, “What’s making them weird to you, specifically?”

Malcolm spread one out for both of them to take a look at. “Too much detail, and not just about the report. This reference here about casting stones might hint at her loft – so many windows.” He dug out another one and pointed to an imprint about halfway down the page. “Ains loves coffee from this little hole in the wall place call Daffodils, and that looks like one was pressed between the pages next to a comment that he’ll raise a cup in her honor – cup, not glass, so I’m thinking caffeinated and not alcoholic. I’ll have to ask her to make sure she didn’t toss anything that came with it though.”

“So, she’s got a creeper,” Dani reasoned. “What does her boss think?”

“That it’ll be good for ratings,” he replied drily, not at all surprised at the responses that garnered. He shook his head again. “There’s nothing directly threatening about anything on any of these pages, but the turn of phrase and the sheer number definitely hints at a growing obsession. It could be harmless, or...”

“Or it could blow up if the guy’s a true psycho,” Dani finished for him.

“Let’s assume the psycho because it’s your family we’re talking about, does she know who it is? Does she need a restraining order? I’m not sure there’s enough to get one yet,” JT cut in. His gaze drifted to the rest of the letters but didn’t dig, trusting Bright would have led with anything major enough for that.

Malcolm knew it was the truth. There was nothing overtly threatening, yet alarm bells went off in his head. Part of him believed it was just the overprotective brother in him, but part of him was a little reassured that even JT and Dani agreed it was a little beyond the norm. “No direct threats to her or anything in her life,” he assured them both. He watched as two sets of shoulders relaxed slightly and felt a little bit of warmth from the action.

“So?” Dani prompted.

“So, I’m going to tell her the guy is harmless enough so far, but to let me know if it gets worse,” he said, knowing his voice was laced with disappointment. 

That apparently was not enough for Dani. She grabbed one of the envelopes and flipped it around to look for the return address. One didn’t exist, of course. She took it back to her own desk anyway and logged in before she responded to his question of just what she was doing. “Checking the stamp to see which post office processed it. Might help us figure out where he’s sending if nothing else, assuming they are all the same?”

Malcolm rifled through the letters to confirm, and found one that was different. He handed that to her and let her type that in as well. “What’s the date on that last one? It was sent from right next to the station,” JT observed. 

Dani answered before he could with, “Last weekend. Saturday, so probably right after her Friday night report wrapping up the Conner’s case.”

Malcolm grabbed the letter in question as he had already rearranged them back to chronologically and confirmed, “He references the case directly in his letter. That and… a lot of variances of blue?”

JT pulled out his phone and typed something in. He then shook his head as it was apparently a no-go. “Nope, she was wearing a black jacket.”

“That’s her overcoat,” Bright pointed out. Ainsley had stopped by his place on the way home, which is how they had agreed to meet up for coffee the next day, both too tired to do much more that night. “She had a skirt with a blue herringbone pattern on it, and a matching suit jacket,” he recalled. It was one of the few times his sister wasn’t in a pantsuit, and she had complained she had chosen poorly that day as her legs were cold.

JT pocketed his phone. “Yeah, she’s got a creeper then,” he agreed. “Want me to talk to her about the general rules in these things? Not going places alone, text or call if her schedule’s going to be different, stay away from dudes with facemasks and machetes, that sort of thing?”

Malcolm snorted, knowing his sister far too well. “She’d take that as a challenge,” he warned.

JT just looked resigned. “Of course, she would.”

He did talk to Ainsley, but purposefully kept the drama down for a change. He confirmed her instincts were correct and that the guy sending all the letters was probably more than a casual fan. He also asked her to send him anything else she got just in case it escalated. She agreed, and sent him a picture of yet another letter that night. She also sent him a picture of a taser disguised as a cell phone she was debating purchasing, and he figured the poor life choices thing was probable hereditary. 

They found another body two days later, this time in the pool of a high school of all things. Public enough to match his profile, but still enclosed. The custodian had been suspicious as the feed had been cut and he was tired of skinny-dipping students, and he managed to catch sight of a rough shape trying to run away. He knew which cameras led to which areas enough, and they were attempting to compile the footage from around that time to see if they could get something other than a vague description.

Malcolm resigned himself to smelling like chlorine for yet another day when he stepped out to breathe some slightly fresher air. Ainsley was wrapping up her report, always careful to keep him from the camera, and he waited out of view for her to finish. While he did so, a glint from the side caught his attention. It was a man standing in the shadow of some trees, snapping pictures with his cell phone. Not an unusual occurrence at a crime scene, but the fact the camera had clearly been pointed at the reporter and not what was being reported on most certainly was. He also didn’t fit the description given of the suspect. Too short, no athletic build, messy hair versus nearly bald.

Bright waited for the light from the camera to go off and for his sister to hand over the microphone before he approached. “I think your guy was here,” he commented with a nod towards where he had seen him. The shadows were empty now, but he trusted his memory.

“Hi, Ainsley, how are you? I’m here to tell you reassuring randomness versus tell you that your potential stalker has been hanging out behind you…” she rattled off with an eyeroll. She poked him in the chest and he grabbed the finger to pull her in for a sloppy hug. “Just for that, you owe me lunch,” she told him.

“Let me see if I can get free,” he agreed easily enough. “We’re going to need to wait a bit on Edrisa’s analysis anyway.” Gill would text him if anything came up before that, and definitely wouldn’t fault him for actually eating.

They were halfway through their meal when he tapped her with the toe of his shoe. “What’s up? You love this place?”

She put her fork down and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I do, it’s just…” She bit her lip and then sighed. “This is the last place Jin and I went to before we broke up. Not that we knew we were going to break up but… We went the day before, well, the day before everything at Claremont.”

He nodded in understanding, but did feel the need to point out, “We could have gone somewhere else, you know. I have it on good authority that New York has more than one restaurant.” She kicked him with the much more pointed toe of her own shoe. Hard. “Hey, I’m just saying there’s no need to rub your nose in the one that got away.”

“He did not get away,” she huffed decisively. She picked up her fork again but used it more as a prop than an eating utensil, gesturing with it as she said, “He decided I was too ‘driven’ and that I needed to back down. I was too obsessed with my career and getting ahead. Do you know how hard it is to make a name for yourself? And female investigative reporters have it harder than males. It’s like they expect the men to get the gritty stuff and the women to do the fluff pieces. I did not need that in my life.”

He looked at her knowingly over the rim of his glass of water. “But you still miss him,” he said, and it was not a question.

Her lips twitched of their own accord. “You saw his abs,” she leered. She placed a hand over his own before the tremor was overtly noticeable, undoubtedly remembering the same thing he was about that day and his failure to save the man and their need to call in their father of all people to do so. “It’s done and gone and over with. Nothing more to dwell on,” she insisted, and he knew she was talking about more than just her relationship.

He paid the bill as promised, and wisely didn’t mention the man in the trench coat that had hovered just at the outside edge of the glassed in almost-patio they had dined within. The man who had the same build and haircut as the one he had seen at the scene earlier. The man hadn’t followed Ainsley to her car, not that Malcolm would have let him, but simply nodded to himself as though making sure she was safe of before he disappeared into the crowds around them. He tried to snap a picture, but didn’t get a clear shot due to the foot traffic of a Manhattan afternoon.

She sent him an image the next afternoon of another letter received. No postage on it though it had been left in her personal mailbox, which upped the creep factor a little for them both. It was a congratulations on her report, but also referred to the others that surrounded her as lambs following her lead. He would have written that off as odd poetic prose, but remembered precisely what she had ordered for lunch, and knew it was something more. He cautioned her to be careful and to not go anywhere alone, knew it would be ignored, sent both images to JT and Dani per their earlier request, and then had to run off on a lead that finally broke on the drowning victims.

Of course, the lead somehow involved him nearly becoming the next victim. Aaron Lyndson, former swim coach with an unfortunate history of inappropriate behavior that got him canned, knocked him over the head and damn near unconscious. He managed to wrestle himself free, and then somehow that equated to wrestling them both near the water at another high school pool. 

Bright was not a strong swimmer. The knock to the head did not help matters. He was just happy that Lyndson had not managed to nearly suffocate him first despite his best efforts, further weakening his lungs before he needed to hold his breath for as long as he did. The other victims had not been so lucky. 

He managed to bang Lyndson’s own head against the wall of the pool a handful of times, just enough to disorientate him and almost free himself. The added bonus was that his team managed to get to that edge of the pool and drag the suspect up and away with only one last kick to Bright’s stomach sending him a little deeper than he would have preferred. 

He managed to break the surface and spit out the water that he had swallowed on his own, and then managed a lackluster crawl that was not much more than a doggie paddle to the nearest wall. He didn’t quite have the energy to pull himself up yet, not with the extra weight of his suit and everything else, so he just sort of hung out there for a moment and watched them cuff the guy before he dragged himself over the nearest ladder to climb out.

He plopped down on the decking with little grace and attempted to further catch his breath. When he dared to open eyes that stung like hell, he could make out the blurry form of Gil above him. “You look like a drowned rat, kid,” Arroyo told him.

“Feel like one too,” he assured him. He coughed up a little more water and then sniffed, nostrils filling with the inevitable. “I’m going to smell like chlorine for days, aren’t I?” he whined.

“Could be worse,” Gil said as he offered him a hand to stand. “You could smell like formaldehyde instead.”

He nodded at the truth to those words, and accepted a towel from Dani to at least wipe his face and push his hair out of his eyes. His suit was drenched and his shoes were toast. He kicked those off because the squelch was annoying and wrung out what he could before he headed out to where hopefully a change of clothing awaited. He caught sight of the bright light that meant his sister was already there, but was surprised when she ran over to check on him versus prepare for her report.

“I’m fine, Ains,” he insisted.

She looked at him doubtfully and her cameraman took the opportunity to grab something from the van. He was surprised to find it was Jin, and even more surprised to find it a sweatshirt with the station’s logo on it. “It’s not much, and I don’t see any pants, but at least it’s something?” the other man said as he handed it over.

“Thank you, it is much appreciated,” he replied. It would be significantly warmer than the t-shirt and track pants stashed in the back of Gil’s car after the last few times he had ended up in less than pristine condition.

“You took on a madman with a camera and a single-use taser for me, trust me when I say it’s the least I could do,” Jin huffed without humor. Apparently, the bad blood between him and Ainsley did not extend to her other family members. Well, probably Martin given his role, but that was to be expected. Also, that it couldn’t be that bad if the two were working together again.

He offered a questioning look to his sister, who brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “Later,” she promised. Then, with a gleam in her eye, “Like when I get you drunk and get the details of all of this out of you.”

“Love you too, Ains,” he grinned. Gil rolled his eyes from where he stood off to the side and snapped his fingers for Bright to follow before he could give things away that weren’t even in reports yet. He opened his dripping arms wide and teased, “What, no hug?” when her response was to step back towards the light and the camera.

“I love you dearly, Mal, but I’m on the air in like two minutes and you look like the epitome of a drowned rat,” she called over her shoulder.

“That’s what I told him!” Gil laughed. He had no such qualms, already slightly damp from the rescue and arrest, and tugged Malcolm by the shoulder closer to his car and pointedly away from anything that would get him on television.

There were dry clothes, reports, and a decent whisky with his sister to follow that evening. She also brought him dinner and pointedly stared at the extremely light bruising on his throat until she got at least that out of him. A call to his mother had a trusted driver to bring her home, and one that would wait until she was actually inside to text him she made it safely. He worried about her nearly as much as she worried about him, especially given her current rise to fame, and the letters proved the need for that. He didn’t envy his mother, who would probably have actual liver damage if she knew half of what both of them got up to, but he did have one final toast in her honor for getting them as far as she had in life before he locked himself in for a fitful four hours of sleep.

One of the things he knew about Ainsley was that she had never really liked police stations, which was kind of odd for a crime reporter as far as he was concerned. Regardless, when she texted him the next day to please meet him outside, he gave his excuses to the team and did so immediately. They had just closed a major case and nothing huge had exploded yet, so he figured he had time.

Whatever he was expecting, it was not to find his sister pacing out front, high heels clicking against the pavement and exquisite manicure getting shredded by the way she chewed at her thumbnail. “Ainsley?” he asked, concerned, as he started down the steps.

Her head shot up and he saw the shadows under her eyes, the almost frantic glaze to them. “He called me his bunny,” she blurted, apropos of nothing. At his raised eyebrow, she waved the hand she had just been chewing on and said, “Jin, that was his nickname for me. He had two as pets, said I seemed soft like them on the outside but was both fast and nefarious like Charlotte and Ester.”

He did not necessarily need to know that much about his sister’s private life, and he raised a hand to protest, “Ains, you sure you want to share this with me? Here? Now?” One of the cops walking by snickered and gave him a “better you than me” look in passing.

“Damn it, Malcolm,” she hissed. She held up her phone and he looked at the image it was opened to. It was a stuffed rabbit, sliced down the middle, stuffing strewn everywhere. “Jin sent me this!”

He took the phone from her, concerned ramped up significantly. Jin hadn’t seemed the type to turn to violence when he met him, which meant he would have hidden it well, hidden it past everything Bright himself was trained to see and even the insanity that was their father. There was no way Martin Whitly would have helped save the man if he thought he was remotely a threat to his daughter. “Did he… did he threaten you?” he asked, voice several octaves lower than normal. If he had missed this, something so major, especially when he had seen the other man literally the previous day, he would never be able to forgive himself.

She shook her head. “No. No, not him. This is what he found on his doorstep when he got home last night. It had a collar just like Charlotte’s attached and a note saying he deserved worse for hurting me. Thankfully, Charlotte is okay. Ester too. I just…”

“Your stalker,” he guessed, putting the pieces together, relieved it wasn’t Jin but concerned for an entirely new reason. He hadn’t seen him at the school the day before but, to be fair, his eyes had still burned from the unexcepted dip in the pool and he might not have had the best acuity. His eyes were still slightly bloodshot when he woke up that morning even, but they were in good enough shape to take in the mess that was his sister reaching near hysterics.

“He could have hurt him! Could have hurt them!” she insisted, and started to pace again. “Is this enough yet? Is this a high enough level of disturbed for a restraining order?”

He winced, and knew she was not going to like what he was about to say. “Not sure, to be honest, but the fact he’s now standing behind you might be?”

She jumped, as in literally jumped, at that. A slight step to the side and she turned to face the man who was still a good ten to twelve paces away. Still with unkempt hair, still in the damned trench coat, hands buried deep in its pockets.

“Step away from her!” the man ordered.

“What?” both of Jessica Whitly’s children asked at once. That he would try something, not just out in public, but in front of the police station showed that he was perhaps not completely with it. Malcolm noticed at least one cop pause just before the steps, either to watch the spectacle or to intervene if needed, he wasn’t sure which. It was Ryan Stevens, new to the force, new to being a cop as whole, but with a good heart and he slotted him on the side of trying to do something positive versus sitting back to watch.

“I said step away!” the man repeated. He took a shaky step forward. “You’re not good enough. Not good enough for her! She deserves someone who knows her, who understands her…”

“What, like a creepy guy who follows me around and makes wholly inaccurate assumptions about my life?” Ainsley countered. She crossed her arms in front of herself though only currently held her own real cell phone and not the fake thing she had debated buying.

Malcolm resisted the urge to wipe a hand over his face. He swore he could physically hear Gil’s voice mutter that it was something in their blood that made them taunt the bad guys into acting, or maybe that was Officer Abrams who hovered on the steps behind them. Stacy Abrams knew the truth of his heritage, one of the few who out and out did in the precinct as she had been involved with the Watkins case, but either didn’t care or at least didn’t judge him personally on it. For his part, Malcolm took a deep breath, and tried, “Look, I’m sure you have your reasons for your obsession, for your protectiveness, but I assure you-”

He never got to assure him about anything as the man finally removed his hands from his pockets to reveal a sizable knife, just as he lunged forward. 

Malcolm’s first instinct was to duck and cover his sister. She’d be pissed at hitting the pavement, but it was better than the alternative. He heard more than felt the tear of fabric at his side, and kicked out as he straightened back up. Ainsley, of course, tried to follow, so he shoved her at Abrams and begged, “Get her out of here?”

Abrams turned and bodily covered her as she tried to hustle her up the stairs, Kevlar of her uniform far more protective than designer wool. The man was distracted for about half a second by the action, and Bright used that to its full advantage to make his move. He hurtled forward, dodging just enough at the last moment to avoid the next swing of the knife. A grip, a hyperextension, and a well-placed smack later, and the blade clattered to the concrete. 

He wriggled out of Malcolm’s loosening grip and pushed him with all of his might, making him stumble back a few steps. Unfortunately, the stairs prevented any more than that, and he teetered for a moment in an attempt to regain his balance. Stevens reached for him versus the other unhinged man, and it was all the guy needed. It happened both too fast and in slow motion but, soon enough, it was clear that he had grabbed the rookie’s gun from its holster and now had it pointed right at Malcolm.

There was the sound of a half dozen, possibly more, cops drawing their own weapons in return. There was also the shriek from his sister, mostly profanity, but he chose to ignore that last part for now and pay for it later. “This is not the choice you want to make,” Bright tried. He wheezed in a breath and felt a pinch at his side that spoke of at least one good hit having been made.

“You… you don’t deserve her!” the man shouted again.

Malcolm let his head wiggle from side to side. “Probably not?” he agreed. “But since we’re family, we’re kind of stuck with each other.”

The man blinked, dumbfounded. He clearly thought that Malcolm and Ainsley were together in a way far different from shared parentage. Malcolm wasn’t good enough for her in that way. Jin hadn’t been good enough either. Probably the only one he saw fit was himself, which meant his stalker behavior would have escalated into something more extreme, one way or another, and sooner rather than later.

It was that blink that gave Bright his opening. It was muscle memory more than anything else. Textbook reversal of possession and disarmament. A hit, a grip, a twist, and a tug, and the gun was now in the hands of the profiler versus the insane guy. Well, other insane guy. He flipped the safety and dropped the cartridge, and handed it to a very chagrined Stevens who would undoubtedly be practicing certain situational protocols for weeks before he was signed off on anything.

The man made one halfhearted lunge that was barely more than a flinch, but had three cops on him before he could do much more. At least two of the three looked to Malcolm with raised eyebrows, which was explained when Abrams herself asked, “Really, Bright? With the knife and the gun and…? You gotta make the rest of us look bad?” 

There was no heat to her tone though, only amusement, and Malcolm found himself responding with, “Why does everyone forget I was in the FBI? For almost a decade even?”

He didn’t hear an answer, if there even was one. His arms were full of his sister, who buried her face against his shoulder and gripped him tight. Or at least tried to until his full-body flinch gave him away. She pulled back, just barely, and raised one of her hands towards the sunlight to find the fingertips stained red and slick. “You got hit?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course he did, have you met him?” JT replied with a shake of his head. Bright watched him secure his own weapon before he put his hands on his hips and asked, “Did you need an escort to get that checked out? Or do you know the way by yourself yet?”

Malcolm pulled his jacket back to find a fine line of red across his dress shirt, sluggishly becoming a larger stain. “Knife only, and he barely got me,” he insisted. From what he could tell from his quick purview, it was a shallow slice of maybe two inches in length. It stung now that he knew it was there, and explained the earlier pinch-like pain, but he determinedly was not going to make a huge deal out of it, especially in front of his sister.

JT had no such compulsions. He just redoubled the look he was giving him and pointed out, “Didn’t ask your opinion, Bright.”

“Go see if it needs stitches,” Dani directed from just behind her usual partner. She narrowed her eyes, but kept her tone playful when she added, “Looks like it might need more than a Ninja Turtle band-aid this time.”

“Malcolm, please?” Ainsley asked, and that was a low blow because he had a hard time denying her anything and literally everyone involved seemed to know it.

He sighed, defeated. “Fine, but you’re coming with so that they can take a look at your palms,” he conceded. There was more than the few drops of his blood on her hands, and he had the feeling she must have skinned them on the steps when he tried to cover her.

She pouted but agreed and he gently led her inside to do just that. In doing so, he passed Gil, who shook his head and muttered, “You both got hurt? Jessica’s going to kill me.”

He also unfortunately heard Stevens ask, “Wait, they’re related? Wouldn’t that mean…”

Abrams proved her worth though and cut that off immediately. “That you’re related to a stray and untrained dog based upon your performance today, Stevens? No, scratch that, that’s an insult to Kaijo from Narcotics. He could’ve kept better control of your weapon and he’s got paws, man.”

Malcolm listened to her bitch him out and suitably distract him and a few other curious onlookers as he headed to get cleaned up. Eventually, the rest of them would probably figure it out, but he appreciated the effort.

He didn’t need stitches, only a few butterfly strips after the wound was thoroughly cleaned with what he was convinced was the most painful antiseptic they had. It wouldn’t surprise him if Gil had them keep that on hand just for him, especially when they chose a different bottle to disinfect Ainsley’s palms after carefully plucking a few tiny pieces of gravel out of them. No major damage to either one of them, though it was unlikely she could hide the bandages from the camera for the next few days.

Ainsley rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around one of his own as they sat on the couch in Gil’s office. It felt suspiciously like they had been called to the principal’s office for detention, but she took the opportunity to whisper, “Thank you. For, well, everything. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He pulled one of her hands free and gently kissed the bandage across it, just like he used to when she’d skin her knee or elbow, or the one time she cracked her head open trying to climb the fence to see what the neighbors were doing. “Sorry about your hands,” he winced in return.

“And I’m sorry that I have to deal with both of your foolish asses,” Gil huffed as he stepped around his desk. “Seriously? A potential stalker and you didn’t think to ask the actual police officer for help?”

“To be fair, JT and Dani were in the loop and he only just escalated last night with the attack on Jin, and…” Bright trailed off, the look in Gil’s eyes telling him he was only digging himself deeper.

“Congratulations on at least involving them. Though I’m assuming they involved themselves more than you actually thinking to reach out and ask,” Gil griped. Ainsley yawned out an apology and Malcolm watched as Gil’s glare darted from her hands to where the wound was beneath his jacket, and then up to the bruising from the day before. The older man visibly deflated and just said, “Go home. Both of you. I don’t care whose place because I’m assuming you’re both sticking together for the rest of the day. If you’re not, consider it a heavy hint.”

Malcolm looked over to his sister and asked, “Takeout from Tai’s?”

She nodded, already having cleared the night off with her boss. More like been ordered to take it off so the tiny scratch on her chin could heal enough to be covered by makeup. “Can you make me that hot chocolate thing?”

It was one of the few things he was good at making, having learned over the years it was one of her favorites and always a necessity after a bad day. “Yeah, of course. Movie or bad reality tv?”

She debated that and he debated why Gil grabbed his jacket and his keys. Off of his look, the detective explained, “I know for a fact you have nothing in your fridge as you’ve been working a case for a week. We’ll pick up the supplies on the way to your place and, no, you cannot add brandy this time, though I might.”

“Ooh, movie night at Bright’s?” Dani guessed as she watched them gather from her place near the door.

“We’re getting Tai’s, want your usual?” Bright offered. He made sure to gesture enough to include JT as well.

JT shook his head and he thought he was about to decline, right up until he said, “I’m picking up beer this time. Had such a hangover from your rich people stuff, and the sheer quantity y’all put away, last time that Tally still hasn’t let me live it down,” he complained.

“I think he’s implying something about our lineage,” Malcolm mused to no one in particular.

“Well, we are our mother’s children,” Ainsley agreed easily enough. Gil just shook his head, again, and motioned for them to finally leave his office and the precinct as a whole. There was absolutely no question as to just how they were to get home.

He heard a few whispers as they made their way through the office, and mentally prepared himself for the worst. In a way, it was better to get it all out now versus later, no need to worry about the other shoe dropping or anything like that. Instead of distain though, he was met by Rogers whistling appreciatively as he walked past. “That was pretty badass, Bright,” the older cop commented. 

His head jerked up in surprise, and then immediately lowered in embarrassment when he found another two cops beside him nod in agreement. “The knife was cool. The gun was cooler,” Cottingham added.

“Please don’t encourage him,” Gil muttered, but Malcolm could see the hint of pride in the glow of his eyes.

“Not a suit then?” Rogers asked.

JT snorted at that. “Oh, he’s a suit, he’s just not _just_ a suit,” he confirmed.

“But he wears it so well,” Abrams teased. She gave him a once over, less in a flirting way and more in a making sure he truly was okay way. She did the same for his sister before she continued on her way with whatever task she had been in the middle of.

“Bright’s getting a fan club,” Dani commented, voice filled with amusement. “And not just Edrisa.”

Gil physically pushed him towards the exit now, hands barely making contact but clearly making a point. “That’s the last thing the kid needs,” he said, reaching around to get the door himself and usher them through.

Malcolm let the chatter of fans and obsessions and learning their lessons wash over him as he settled into the back of Gil’s car, letting Ainsley take the front. Tonight, there would be good food, bad entertainment, and multiple sets of eyes watching his sister and proving to both of them that she truly was alright. Hopefully, it would enough to calm the subtle vibration of nerves he could make out just beneath the surface. If not, well, Gil might have banned brandy, but said nothing about bourbon.


End file.
